


ode to a fallen warrior

by ladydetective



Series: Senior Sisters of Sweet Mercy [1]
Category: Book of the Ancestor Series - Mark Lawrence
Genre: Angst, F/F, Friendship, Gen, depiction of injury
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-14
Updated: 2020-12-14
Packaged: 2021-03-10 23:53:41
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,989
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28075761
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ladydetective/pseuds/ladydetective
Summary: "In her bones, Tallow knew that the battle at Verity would be her last."Sister Tallow, from her origins to her final moments at the Battle of Verity.
Relationships: Sister Tallow & Nona Grey, Sister Tallow & Sister Apple
Series: Senior Sisters of Sweet Mercy [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2056746
Comments: 6
Kudos: 9





	ode to a fallen warrior

**Author's Note:**

> i'm planning a series of one-shots that focuses on each of Sweet Mercy's Senior Sisters. this is the first, and it focuses on sister tallow. i'd appreciate feedback on this one bc i haven't written much fic that focuses on character backstory rather than shipping and i'm interested in your thoughts on where i decided to go with it.

In her bones, Tallow knew that the battle at Verity would be her last. She’d been in too many to count since she took the Red all those years ago and had felt a grim sense of anticipation before each one. Not this time, though - this time, all she felt was dread. It had been some time since she’d set foot on the field of battle - her (former) position as Mistress Blade kept her more or less bound to the Convent unless she was to provide the Abbess with specific assistance or needed to accompany novices on rangings. She was unsure whether or not she was still capable of producing the feats of brilliance she’d once been able to - as reluctant as she was to admit it, Tallow was old. Hunska aged quickly, and she’d been in service longer than even those who were not of the blood. Her bones ached - a deep, weary ache - and she was tired. 

This wasn’t the path her parents had intended her to walk. Few but her closest Sisters knew that she’d grown up a scion of the Sis. Clarissa Farsis, daughter of the great and powerful Lord Willem Farsis. She’d been raised to be the perfect, preening lady - never a foot wrong, never a hair out of place. It was her destiny to marry another Sis man of high breeding and produce heir after squalling heir. 

She was never cut out for that kind of life - a life of parties and ballgowns, backstabbing and fake smiles. She’d been more content to run wild around her estate, playing with whatever companions she could find. Often, they were the children of servants. She’d return by nightfall, hair messy and dress torn. Needless to say, her parents were not impressed. 

As a child, she was rarely expected to attend the balls her parents threw as a backdrop to their politicking. This changed sometime after her eighth birthday - her mother insisted she was close to becoming a lady, and should thus learn what that entailed. Tallow hadn’t been impressed - she’d been forced into expensive, scratchy dresses - even years later, she remembered how uncomfortable they were - and made to talk to this Lord and that. It was  _ boring _ . 

At one of these parties, a boy - an important heir of some sort, perhaps a year or two older than her - had kissed her. She’d been just shy of her ninth birthday, and he’d taken her by surprise. She hadn’t known how to react - all she was sure of was that she wanted him off her - so she’d punched him, hard enough to knock him to the floor. He’d started crying, right there in front of all the guests. 

Her parents were  _ horrified _ . Turns out, that boy was Crucical Lansis, son and heir to the Emperor. She’d embarrassed him and in turn, brought shame upon her family. At not-even-nine, she hadn’t fully understood the implications of this - all she knew was that everyone suddenly hated her. 

She couldn’t be allowed to remain in Sis circles - she had to be seen to be punished for her actions. So her parents sent her to Sweet Mercy - the logic being that the nuns would teach her the discipline required to go on to live the life of a Sis lady. They’d been wrong on that count - the Convent taught her discipline, alright, but of an entirely different sort. 

Sweet Mercy was the making of her. She didn’t excel overmuch in Path or Spirit. She’d never been particularly religious, and Sister Wheel - then a young woman, only a scant few years into her vows - did little to make it more exciting for young minds. She also didn’t have any quantal blood, so Path felt largely pointless. She did like Sister Pan’s stories, though - the ageing nun had recently retired from active duty as a Mystic Sister and was full of tales about legendary duels she had participated in. The trances she taught would serve Tallow well later in life when she was off winning her own considerable reputation - but that was a nuance she hadn’t appreciated as a child. Her background afforded her an advantage in Academia - she came to the Convent already able to read, and her private tutors had already covered the basics of what the ancient Mistress was trying to convey. Shade she was good at, but didn’t like - the underhanded methods taught by Sister Ivy reminded her far too much of the politicking and backstabbing life she’d left behind. It was just so  _ dishonest _ . 

Blade, though - blade transformed her. In the Blade Hall, she wasn’t laughed at or looked down upon for meeting an unwanted advance with a punch to the face. Mistress Blade - a middle-aged woman by the name of Sister Spear - told her that she’d heard of what happened and said she’d reacted entirely appropriately. She was taught to hone her anger, to redirect it to proper purpose. Her punches became sharper and more deadly. She learned to use a range of weapons, and excelled with them all. The first time she was given a sword, she knew it belonged in her hand. With it she was an artist painting a red picture, her brushstrokes firm yet elegant. 

When she graduated Holy Class, there was no question of which path she would pick. Her family expected her to return home, to take a Sis husband and go about the business of being a perfect Sis lady. She scorned them as she chose to accept the Red cloak wrapped around her shoulders instead. 

She was sent out on missions almost immediately. Red Sisters - unlike their Grey counterparts - had a short shelf life and an even shorter life expectancy. Little time was wasted in ensuring they got field experience. Tallow quickly distinguished herself - as excellent as she was in the sands of Blade Hall, she was even better on the open battlefield. Soon enough, they were calling her the finest Red Sister that Sweet Mercy had produced in years - decades, even. 

She was unparalleled - armies quivered before her. Sometimes, even the rumour of her deployment was enough to force enemy combatants to reconsider their plans. She’d conquered everything from rebels to warlords to would-be-emperors. Her name reverberated with fear throughout all corners of the Empire. 

She was made Mistress Blade after a few short years. The role was an honour, but came with its own challenges. Part of her ached to be back on the field - she’d loved it, and sometimes it felt like it was where she truly belonged - but she’d always known it couldn’t last forever. Some of the Sisters who’d taken the Red at the same time as her had already been forced to retire due to injury. It was only a matter of time until the same thing happened to her. And teaching proved rewarding in its own right - helping novices transform from scrappy children into finely tuned warriors was immensely satisfying. Arguably, her instruction had saved more lives than her fighting ever did.

Now, as she made her way down the Vinery Stair with Abbess Wheel and the rest of the Sweet Mercy party, she slew any Scithrowl that she saw. These were only foot-soldiers, splintered away from the main horde. The rest would not fall so easily. Still, though - surprise was written on the faces of the younger members of their party at the ease with which she was able to dispatch them. They had only seen her in the classroom, where she instructed rather than fought in earnest. Most were too young to know of the notoriety she had once enjoyed - it had not taken long for her legend to fade. 

She would show them all why the name ‘Tallow’ was still to be feared. 

* * *

Despite overall enjoying the rush of battle, the anxious waiting period that always preceded them was not something she was fond of. In her youth, they’d sometimes been bearable - she’d been with her Red Sister comrades and it was possible to get lost in the camaraderie. They’d been young, thought themselves invincible - they hadn’t always understood what warfare meant. The older she got, though, the more she came to dread it. She’d look at the people surrounding her and understand that a good portion of them may be dead by morning. 

This time, the wait was almost unbearable. She was not surrounded by seasoned Red Sisters - she was not even one herself, anymore. The company she’d follow into battle was comprised of Holy Sisters too old to fight and novices or former novices too green and inexperienced to do much better. Worse, she cared about them all - loved them, even. They were facing a horde tens of thousands strong. Death felt almost inevitable. 

Most of them were huddled together, making attempts to offer comfort while they waited for their scouts to return with more information or for orders from the General. There was one exception; a lone figure sitting on a bench, a coil of red hair falling free of her headdress. Apple. Tallow moved to sit down beside her. 

“Is everything alright?” she asked, a note of concern in her voice. Tallow had never been very good at showing emotion - it could mean death in the field - but Apple was one of the few people she allowed herself to be vulnerable around. They’d shared a bed at one point - it hadn’t lasted very long, but the friendship borne from it certainly had. 

Apple raised a wry eyebrow, but said nothing further. Tallow allowed herself a brief smile. “Stupid question, I know, but you seem quieter than usual.”

The other woman inclined her head, conceding. “I’m worried about Kettle,” she admitted. “I realise that’s probably foolish and we’re all likely to be dead by morning, but I can’t help it. The thought of losing her - it drives everything else away.”

Tallow nodded, understanding. She’d never experienced a love like the one Apple had for Kettle - she wasn’t sure that she wanted to. It seemed like a distraction - she was more than content with the occasional dalliance. Besides, she lived in a Convent full of nuns - she was hardly lacking for companionship. Still, though - she could respect it. “I’m sure that Kettle will be fine. She may well be the finest Grey Sister Sweet Mercy has ever produced. If anyone can infiltrate a Scithrowl camp and return unharmed, it’s her. She’s lucky she has you to come back to.”

Apple shook her head. “No. I’m the lucky one.” There was no trace of hesitation in her voice. 

Something still seemed... _ off _ ...about her. Perhaps in a bid to distract herself from her own gloomy thoughts, Tallow decided to press. “It’s not just Kettle, is it? Something else is wrong.”

Apple stared at her for a moment, considering. “No,” she said, finally. “It’s not just that. I  _ am  _ worried for Kettle - so worried I can hardly think of anything else - but ever since we started marching - longer than that, really, since we got word that the horde was so close to the city - I’ve felt...this sense of impending dread. I’m not going to make it through this battle.”

Tallow shared her feelings. While she’d somewhat resigned herself to the prospect of her own death - she’d never wanted to die in bed, and while she would have liked a few more years, a death in defense of her Sisters was as good a death as any - but she could not quite reconcile her friend going in the same manner. Apple was a good decade younger than her, and still had a lot left to live for. She made a silent resolution to herself, then - she would do what she could to ensure her friend made it through the night. 

She didn’t say any of this to the other woman. A good General never demoralised the troops under her command. She may not be Mistress Blade any more - she wasn’t even in charge of the Sweet Mercy delegation, though both Iron and Wheel looked to her for advice - but old habits died hard. She placed a reassuring hand on the other woman’s shoulder. “It is usual to feel this way before a battle. We have no true way of knowing what tomorrow will bring - but we should not think the worst. You may lack formal experience in combat - I’ve always said that you Greys should do more training with the Reds -”

Apple rolled her eyes, a ghost of a smile tugging at the corner of her mouth at the familiar argument, but she did not interrupt. “But you’re an incredibly competent Grey - and you’ve got plenty of dirty tricks up your sleeve. Don’t count yourself out just yet. I still remember your Blade Trial - you may not have beaten me, but you came pretty damned close.” 

Apple’s Blade Trial had been one of the first she’d administered as Mistress Blade. She’d been eager to prove that she was still lethal despite having largely retired from field work, but the other woman had given her a tough fight. She wasn’t particularly strong or fast, but those weaknesses were compensated for by her wicked intelligence. She used her brain when she fought, outsmarting her opponents and employing several dirty Grey tricks.

Her words seemed to have the desired effect on the other woman. She certainly looked less downtrodden, at any rate. “Thank you,” said Apple, smiling up at her. This time, the expression reached her eyes.

They sat in companionable silence for a while after that. Tallow, not wanting to dwell overmuch on the fate that awaited them, reflected on her relationship with the other woman. They’d known each other for more than twenty years at this point. It had taken her a long time to shake off her childish dislike of Greys - she’d never quite been able to shake the suspicion that there was an air of dishonesty about them. She’d been of the opinion that there was no mission a Grey was assigned that a Red could not also do, and do without half the fuss that Greys insisted on. It was Apple who disabused her of that notion. 

* * *

They’d been assigned on a mission together. Tallow had been Mistress Blade for a handful of years, Apple a Grey Sister for a handful of months. She’d already gained quite the reputation - still, she couldn’t quite shake the feeling she was babysitting. The girl had taken her Blade Test with her only a few months ago, for Ancestor’s sake! Still, the Abbess believed that this mission required a more deft touch. 

They were to travel to Aldersberg, a twin city to Verity in many ways but situated hundreds of miles apart. Underworld bosses there were growing too powerful for the Church’s liking, drawing people away from the light of the Ancestor and into pits of sin and despair. Or something - Tallow didn’t much care for the reason, she just went where she was posted. The plan was that she would fight in the Ring - a fighting pit similar to Verity’s Caltess - in order to smoke out the aforementioned bosses whilst Apple dealt with them. She was nervous leaving such an important task to one so inexperienced, but there was little she could do about it. 

Fighting in the Ring was a rush, there was no other way to describe it. She’d brought her Red Class novices to the Caltess for the past several years and secretly wished  _ she _ could get in on the action - Partnis Reeve’s best fighters were no match for her, and neither were any of these. She dispatched with them swiftly, sometimes showboating to rile the assembled crowd - she was here to draw people out, after all. 

As the fighting wore on and the crowds grew - many of whom roared her name in applause - she noticed Apple slipping amongst them. She was heavily disguised - if Tallow had not specifically been looking for her, she would have missed it. The younger woman slipped poisons into cups of wine, sometimes ‘accidentally’ brushing up alongside a target and applying deadly contact venoms. Despite her instincts, she was impressed - she’d just felled half of Aldersberg’s underground bosses in one fell swoop, without causing a stir or bringing attention to herself. They’d be able to walk out of here without facing any recriminations. 

After a few more bouts, they did just that. They’d arranged to reunite with one another at the edge of the city - she had to admit, it was pleasant to complete a mission without the need for unnecessary bloodshed. The only people who’d died tonight were ones who most assuredly deserved it. Perhaps there was some merit to Shade-work, after all. 

“So, Mistress Blade,” said Apple, a smile on her face and a note of confidence in her voice, “have I impressed you?”

Tallow raised an appreciative brow. The other woman had shed her disguise and was once again wearing the usual travelling habit, Grey cloak over her shoulders. She was far from the novice she remembered. She’d give credit where it was due. “You did. Nicely played. And you may as well call me Tallow - ‘Mistress Blade’ is far too formal. I have a feeling we’re going to be working  _ closely _ together from now on.”

Apple’s smile widened. “Glad to hear it. You fought well today - it was a marvel to watch.”

“I’m surprised you had time to watch, given your preoccupation.”

“You were hard to miss - besides, I’m an excellent multitasker.”

They bedded one another on the way back to Sweet Mercy, and continued to do so for another couple of months. It was never very serious, and fell apart shortly after, but it was fun while it lasted. Apple was an energetic and generous lover, and Tallow made sure to pay her back in kind. 

Their affair may not have lasted long, but the friendship that followed it did. They had a lot in common, and enjoyed talking with each other. Tallow was naturally taciturn, but Apple had a strange gift for coaxing laughter and conversation out of her. When the younger woman was elevated to the position of Mistress Shade after Sister Ivy’s retirement, she was thrilled for her. It heralded the start of a companionable working relationship - they would often share lesson plans, and their voices were often united at the Convent table. Once Kettle came into the picture and the depth of Apple’s feelings for her were clear, Tallow frequently provided cover for them whenever they wanted time alone. 

She wouldn’t let any harm come to her friend if she could help it. 

* * *

The battle had well and truly begun. Though she’d fought in nearly too many to count in the past, those had primarily happened in far-flung corners of the Empire. There was something uniquely distressing about watching Verity - a city she had called home for many years, one that had, in her lifetime, never been invaded - succumb swiftly to the Scithrowl horde. As vast as their enemy seemed in the lead-up to the fighting, it was obvious now that their number was even greater than they had feared. For every soldier Tallow felled, another ten took his place. Rumours of the imminent arrival of Adoma’s Fist spread along their fractured lines, sowing further fear in their wake. 

Her vow to protect her friends and sisters was proving impossible to follow up on - despite the best of intentions, the strength and number of their enemy was so great that it was difficult to do more than keep a vague idea of their positions. All she could hope to accomplish for them now was keep as many Scithrowl soldiers focused on her as possible. 

As she raised her sword - not the ark-steel blade she was used to, but rather a more common and less effective variant - to deal the death-blow to yet another opponent, she noticed a strange blur streak across her vision. Were she not hunska herself, she likely would not have even seen it, such was the speed at which it moved. 

_ It _ , of course, was Nona Grey - or Sister Cage, as she should now probably be referred to as. She clutched Tallow’s own ark-steel blade in hand and swung it in vicious circles, felling enemies left and right. Her face was twisted in an expression of anger, the rage she used to fuel her talents evident in every move. No amount of training ever managed to coax her out of the habit - Tallow must have berated her for her temper a hundred times. Now, though, as she was confronted with the full magnificence of it, she had to admit that it was a sight to behold. An effective one at that, judging by the piles of corpses amassing at her feet. 

As Tallow continued her own desperate attempt to stem the tide of the horde, her limbs growing tired with the constant strain of swinging her weapon, she recalled the first day she met Nona Grey. The girl had been a tiny, filthy thing - eyes burning in distrust as she regarded the three of them. Tallow wondered how on Abeth one so small had been able to cripple the Tacsis giant - it was obvious from looking at her that she had at least a touch of hunska - but even so, the man had been 9ft tall with a reputation for brutality. Both she and Apple had questioned the Abbess’s wisdom in removing her from Harriton prison, sure it would bring them nothing but trouble. 

Any doubts she had were silenced in that first Blade lesson.  _ Ancestor _ , the girl was  _ fast _ . Tallow had already been Mistress Blade for more than ten years at that point - already, whispers about her retirement had started - and she didn’t think she’d ever instructed anyone so swift. Certainly, the Ghomal girl was quick, as was Sister Kettle, but she’d be prepared to bet on little Nona outstripping even them in time. More’s to the point - her temper was almost as swift as her reflexes. 

A picture began to emerge in her mind - a man as arrogant as Raymel Tacsis reportedly was would naturally underestimate someone so small. The advantage of surprise, in combination with her incredible speed and equally remarkable fury could bring a giant to his knees. Apple’s Grey Reports corroborated her suspicions. 

The girl had certainly brought no shortage of excitement with her to Sweet Mercy, including a Noi-Guin assassination attempt on her very first night. Tallow herself dispatched with one of them - it had not been an easy fight. The woman employed a branch of Shade-fist favoured by the Sisters of Discretion, which involved a lot of evasion and dirty tricks. Still - the kill silenced some of the voices that argued she should retire and allow someone younger and more vigorous to take her place. She’d been glad of it, then - ten years ago, she’d still had a lot of energy to give. 

As the years wore on, Nona Grey continued to re-affirm her faith in her. She was not always an easy student to teach - in fact, she was actively difficult most of the time - but it seemed her potential was near limitless. She excelled with every weapon given to her and was able to regularly trounce all of her classmates - with the exception of Zole, and even then she was able to hold her own against the alleged Chosen One. 

Tallow recognised herself in the young woman - or at least, glimmers of herself. They came from vastly different backgrounds, true, but that only mattered in Sweet Mercy if you allowed it to matter. They both greatly valued their friends and would do anything to protect them, and they were both martyrs to their tempers. Years of discipline and training had whittled down Tallow’s anger - but it was still there, bubbling beneath the surface. At heart, she was still the girl who’d punched Crucical Lansis for daring to kiss her. Only time would tell if Nona’s rage would likewise eventually simmer out into something more manageable. Part of Tallow hoped it wouldn’t - it seemed a quintessential part of her personality. 

Regardless, she could not think of a worthier successor. The voices calling for her retirement grew only louder in recent years, and she could no longer find the strength within herself to deny them. She’d been Mistress Blade for more than twenty years - longer than any other in living memory. She’d served her order and her Sisters proudly, and now it was time to step aside. Giving her sword to Nona had hurt - she’d wielded it since she first took her vows - but she knew it was time for the next generation to take over. She’d meant what she said - Nona Grey was an artist, and deserved the best brush. Watching her paint a bloody path through her opponents now, Tallow felt only pride. She didn’t know if any of them would survive this battle - she still felt in her gut that she herself would not - but if they did, their salvation would be in Nona Grey’s hands. 

* * *

Friends were dying all around her, and there was nothing she could do to stop it. She could hardly move without stumbling over the body of someone she’d once known, be they novice or nun. There was not even time to pay them their dues, to take even a moment to mourn their passing - the enemy just kept coming and coming. They were as relentless as their name implied. 

Tallow wasn’t sure how much longer she could keep this going. She’d burned through her reserves of hunska speed long ago and was now relying on the dregs to carry her through. She’d taken an arrow to the shoulder twenty kills ago, rendering her non-dominant arm almost useless. More alarmingly, a knife jutted out of her side, just above her hip. Blood oozed slowly from the wound, a steady  _ drip drip drip  _ that signalled her eventual doom. Removing the knife would only hasten the inevitable, and she still had fighting to do.

Something caught her eye out of the corner of her vision - a flash of red hair. Apple. Hope flourished in her chest - she’d worried the other woman had fallen long ago, when Tallow first lost sight of her. This hope was quickly replaced with a clawing worry - two men were bearing down upon her, spears in hand. They were both at least eight feet tall, clearly with more than a touch of gerant in them. She had great respect for her friend’s skills, but they were not suited for such a fight. Apple was all about stealth and shadows, poison and preparation. She would not last long in a contest of brawn over brains. 

Tallow scanned the battlefield anxiously, searching for someone she could call over to help. She was hoping for Kettle - surely, the younger woman would stop at nothing to save her lover - but she could see no sign. Clearly, she was not the only person who’d struggled to keep track of the people she cared about in the chaos of the fray. 

Swearing the last curse she’d likely ever swear, Tallow raised her exhausted sword hand and finished off her current opponent in one deft move. Ignoring the Scithrowl who rushed to take his place, she marshalled the last remnants of her strength and charged towards her friend.

The first gerant died instantly, her sword embedded in his stomach. Problems arose when the time came to face the second, however - she could not pry her weapon loose from the man’s innards, not with one useless arm and reserves of energy that were entirely spent. He advanced towards her, spear raised. She prepared herself to meet her end, hoping she’d done enough at least to secure Apple’s safety - that the other woman would be smart enough to run, to take the opening she’d given her.

The second gerant fell before her eyes, his throat sporting a new red smile. Apple stepped away from him, bloody dagger in hand. Tallow had but a moment to look at her old friend - she was breathing heavily and sporting the usual cuts and bruises one might expect from a battle of this duration, but otherwise seemed unharmed - before her knees gave way. 

She fell to the ground almost in slow motion, and felt the arms of her friend encircle her. Foolish of her, really - she should be using these moments to run, to put distance between herself and the enemy - but she’d be lying if she said she wasn’t grateful for her presence in this moment. 

“You’re hurt,” breathed Apple, eyeing the messy wound at her side. The knife must have slipped free in the struggle. “Don’t move. I have flesh-bind, I can -”

“No,” said Tallow, her voice weak. “There isn’t time. Get yourself out of here, see if you can regroup with the others. There  _ has _ to be some of us left. It’s too late for me, anyway.” She knew the truth of her words as she spoke them - it was as if she could feel the life draining out of her side along with her blood. She’d had a good one, with few regrets. She was ready to face what came next.

“Kettle’s on her way,” continued Apple, persistent. “I called her when those men were on me. Maybe she can -”

Tallow shook her head. The motion made her dizzy. Behind her vision, she could see stars. The Ancestor was waiting for her - he was having a busy night. She gripped Apple’s hand using the last bit of strength that remained in her body. “Fight on, my friend. The battle’s not won yet.”

In her bones, Tallow knew that the battle at Verity would be her last. But she’d be  _ damned _ if she went down without trying to save her friend. It was then, in the arms of the friend who’s life she’d saved, Sister Tallow of Sweet Mercy Convent took her last breath. 

**Author's Note:**

> i had to sneak apple!lives in there. wouldn't be me if i didn't. pour one out for tallow, an icon.


End file.
